


Get some

by When_Tommy_Met_Alfie



Series: When Tommy met Alfie AU [17]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Times, Domestic Fluff, Idiots in Love, M/M, Romance, Season/Series01 AU, Shelby family antics, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, an interpretation of it, some light hurt/comfort, way less porn than there should be, wtma AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-09
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2019-03-28 21:04:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13912185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/When_Tommy_Met_Alfie/pseuds/When_Tommy_Met_Alfie
Summary: Life in the Shelby household, framed around Alfie's continuous struggle to get some undisturbed time in the bedroom with Tommy.In which drunk older brothers, little brothers having nightmares, horses and generally just everyone is conspiring against Alfie. And in the midst of the chaos, he begins to realize something.





	Get some

**Author's Note:**

> Set after Silver Lining. This is... I don't even know. A lot of everything. Fluff, some fighting, a little bit of smut (far less than I originally had imagined, but sometimes, you've got to cut the porn for... fluff. It just happened). Also, relationship progression. I hope you'll enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

One of the biggest problems with life in Birmingham, is Tommy’s family. But they’re also -to make things complicated- one of, if not the only, redeeming quality about the sorry excuse for a city.

But with the current living situation, certain things are made quite difficult. 

The weeks spent in the house on Watery Lane are nothing short of a constant battle to have even _one_ undisturbed moment in the bedroom. 

That’s all he asks for really, just… one fucking moment, alright? Without anyone barging in to drag Tommy off to some trivial activity, or to solve another business emergency. 

Though even this humble little wish is apparently too much for the Shelby family.

Some weeks are worse than others though. 

...

The house is silent for once, when Alfie wakes up this particular day, and he concludes that it must be early enough for everyone to still be asleep. That goes for the man he has the pleasure of sharing this uncomfortable bed with, too. Tommy is peaceful and warm in his arms, chest rising under his hand in deep, steady breaths. 

Such a rare moment must be seized, Alfie decides. Tommy’s back is pressed firmly against his chest, just like when they fell asleep. A sign that it’s been a good night, when he’s been this still. So Alfie recons it’s alright to wake him up now, before the rest of the house begins to stir and radically reduces his chances of getting some.

Pressing kisses on the back of his neck, he lets a hand travel up over the leanly muscled stomach, stroking idly as Tommy begins to stir in his arms. Ever the light sleeper. 

“Morning, love.” He kisses his jaw now, and Tommy’s mouth twitches as the beard tickles his neck.

“Morning.” Fuck, that raspy note that a night’s sleep gives Tommy’s voice… makes Alfie feel all sorts of things. “Any particular reason why you’re waking me up?” Tommy ‘s eyes are still closed, but a knowing little smile crosses his lips as Alfie tugs him closer, until his hard cock is pressed firmly against the small of his back. A morning predicament that could very easily be solved now when Tommy’s awake… 

“Oh, none at all- seemed like a far too nice day to sleep away, is all…” Alfie rolls his hips and lets out a sigh, gripping Tommy’s jaw to turn his head enough to kiss the corner of his mouth.   

“Guess you’re right.” Tommy shifts onto his back, looking up at him through his lashes. Those long, long lashes that turn every little blink into a major event… And fuck, Alfie is so fucking hard- “Suppose we should get up then-“ He makes a move to sit, but Alfie puts a firm hand on his chest and pins him to the mattress.  

“Oh, you’re not going anywhere, darling.” He sits up, duvet pooling around his waist, and positions himself between the legs that Tommy very willingly spreads for him. “Not when you’re looking at me that way.” 

“Make it worth my while, then,” Tommy challenges and brings his knees up a bit, making himself comfortable as Alfie kneels and reaches for the oil in the nightstand. A certain level of efficiency is in order in this household… 

When he pushes a slick finger into him, Tommy arches off the bed, hands grasping at the sheets. Alfie grins at the sight. It’s been a few days, so he’s wound tight around just a single of Alfie’s fingers, and his cock throbs with anticipation as he begins working him open. Fuck, that’s so good… He slides the finger further up, until he can reach that spot that makes Tommy’s mouth fall open in a breathless moan as a he rubs against it- And yeah, that’s it…

Right then, the door flies open.

Alfie could fuck Tommy bent over his desk in the office, and barely raise an eyebrow if Ollie happened to walk in on them. And fine, it may have happened. But it’s different when it’s Tommy’s family, alright? On pure instinct, Alfie pulls out a bit too roughly, causing Tommy to wince, and haphazardly drags the duvet across his hips. 

“Tommy, we’ve got a bit of a crisis-“ John is standing in the doorway, and it takes a moment for him to grasp the situation. His eyes widen. Why the fuck is everyone in this family always up at the break of dawn? 

“John, for fucks sake-“ Tommy grasps the duvet and manages to get a more decent amount of himself covered. “Fucking _knock_ before you barge into people’s bedroom!” 

The reaction is not one Alfie expected. 

“Ha, revenge!” John exclaims triumphantly and clenches his hand into a fist. Alfie is thoroughly confused by the whole situation. John is grinning now. “That’s what you fucking get, Tommy! I knew I’d get even sooner or later.” 

“Just fuck off, will you?” Tommy sits up, which results in Alfie being very much exposed when the legs at his sides disappear. Mostly for Tommy’s sake, he covers himself with the other half of the duvet. He isn’t sure what emotion to have right now, because John’s strange behaviour has thrown him off a bit. 

“Oh, but I can’t,” John states smugly, arms crossed over his chest. “Because we need you down at the shop. Or would you rather leave the crisis aversion to Arthur?” 

Now, Alfie knows what feeling he’s supposed to have: he’s pissed. 

“I’m sure he can fucking deal,” he snaps, feeling the threat of not getting laid this morning loom over him. “Now, would you kindly do as told and fuck off? We were in the middle of something, yeah?” 

“Sure, I’ll fuck off,” John shrugs. “But I wouldn’t expect too much, mate. Business comes first, right?” And with a final grin, he closes the door, but his voice is still heard through it as his steps disappear down the hallway.  
  
“Esme! We’re finally even! Told you it would happen!”  

“What is he on about?” Alfie turns to Tommy, who is already out of bed. Because of course he can’t leave anything involving the term ‘crisis aversion’ up to Arthur- Alfie would have to physically restrain him to keep that from happening. 

“I may have walked in on him and Esme once,” Tommy mutters and starts getting dressed. “But I didn’t drag him out of bed like this.” 

“Oh for fucks sake.” Alfie pitches forward until he lands face-first on the mattress. This is the only valid position for moments like this. 

 ...

Alfie gives the whole thing another try. This time, late that following night, when they’re certain everyone is asleep. A storm has shrouded the city in a heavy rainfall, and thunder rumbles in the distance. A quite perfect night for hiding under the covers and getting some blood pumping to chase the cold away. 

He’s got Tommy on his back again, with both of his legs wrapped around Alfie’s waist as they share one of those long, deep kisses that are suited for times like this. Alfie takes his time. After all, it’s night, innit, no one is about to disturb them. So he spends some time just appreciating Tommy’s lips before taking this any further, because those lips are worthy of a lot of attention, right? 

But of course, someone up there has it out for him. A loud creaking cuts through the sound of rain when the door handle is pushed down. The door is locked, a concept Alfie normally doesn’t care for. But desperate times call for desperate measures. 

The sound causes Tommy to break the kiss and put a hand on his chest. The handle creaks again, and then a quiet voice is heard.   

“Tommy?” 

“Finn?” Tommy furrows his brow and Alfie sits back with a sigh as he dislodges himself from his arms. Climbing out of bed, Tommy pulls the undershirt over his head. He’s still wearing his boxers. Yeah, because Alfie didn’t even have a chance to get him out of those yet… What sort of day is this?

Tommy unlocks the door, and reveals a small figure standing out there in the darkened hallway. 

“Finn? What are you doing up?” Tommy whispers. 

Finn looks uncertainly at his feet. “Just… wanted to see if you were okay.” 

“I’m fine,” Tommy crouches down to catch his little brother’s eye. “Any reason I wouldn’t be?” 

The kid shrugs a little, but Tommy patiently waits for an answer. “I had a nightmare. Just wanted to make sure it wasn’t real.” 

A soft look comes over Tommy’s face. “Can’t go back to sleep?” 

Finn shakes his head.

“Would you like me to sit with you for a while?” 

“The thunder is much louder in my room,” Finn states firmly. “I think my ceiling is thinner than everyone else’s. And I hear it much more when Aunt Pol isn’t home.” 

Yeah, that’s right, she’s visiting that kid of hers, isn’t she? Michael? 

“How about we take your mattress and put it in here?” Tommy suggests. Finn looks tentatively first at Alfie, who’s sat in the bed watching the scene with an uncannily warm feeling in his chest, then back to his older brother.  

“I’m too old for that now,” he mumbles in an indication that he definitely is not. 

“Well, you know,” Alfie begins. “I was just saying to Tommy, that this thunder is bloody unnerving, yeah? So we could use someone brave in here, to keep guard. Make sure none of us get scared, right. Think you’d be up for that?”  

Finn’s eyes light up. “Sure, I can do that!” He runs off.   

Tommy gives Alfie a grateful look as he goes after his little brother to fetch the mattress in the potentially dangerous bedroom.   

A little while later, Finn is tucked in under his blankets, and keeping guard from his mattress by their bedside. Tommy lies on his side facing him and Alfie curls himself around him so that he can bury his nose in his hair.

“Do you want to talk about the nightmare you had?” Tommy wonders quietly.  

 “I don’t remember.” Finn answers a little too quickly. Then he is quiet for a while. “Tommy?” 

Tommy hums. 

“Promise that you won’t die.” 

Alfie feels how tension creeps into Tommy’s muscles and he holds him a little tighter. 

“Everyone dies eventually, Finn,” Tommy finally answers. 

“Well promise that you won’t die before me. Not Arthur, John or Ada either. Or aunt Pol,” Finn goes on. “Or Esme, or Alfie or-“ 

Being on that list is probably the highest praise Alfie has ever gotten from someone. 

“Finn-“

“I know that people who are older should die first, because mums and dads get sad when their kids die, but-“ Finn is rambling. Alfie’s noticed that he’s got a tendency to do that when he’s upset. “But I just don’t want anything to… happen.” 

“Know what, Finn,” Alfie speaks up when Tommy shifts uneasily in his arms. “I promise to do my very best to forcefully keep your mess of a family alive, right, for as long as possible.” 

“Tommy as well?” 

“Definitely.” Even though he makes it very difficult. 

Finn nods thoughtfully. 

“Promise?” 

“Promise.” 

The rain drums against the windowpane.

“Think you’ll be able to sleep?” Tommy asks after a while. “Seems like the storm is passing. At least the thunder.” 

“Yeah,” Finn blinks sleepily. “But I can stay awake just to be sure. I don’t want you to get scared.” 

“Don’t you worry about that, lad,” Alfie mutters and pulls Tommy closer. “I’ll keep guard for a while. Make sure no thunder scares our Tommy. Can’t have that, right?” 

“No, we can’t.” Finn seems pleased with this, because he closes his eyes and pulls the blanket up to his nose. “Goodnight.” 

Within minutes, he’s sound asleep. 

They’re silent, him and Tommy. No need to always be talking. 

Alfie falls asleep with the sound of Tommy’s calm breathing in his ears.

 ... 

So, another late night, another attempt at getting laid in this absolute hell-hole of a household. But this time, Alfie doesn’t even get Tommy out of his jacket before the interruption comes in the form of Ada, who knocks sharply on the door. They keep that locked now, so she has to speak through it.

“Curly is outside-” She’s out of breath. “Some trouble with one of the horses, he says. Bit of an emergency.”

“Is there no-one else in this  _entire fucking world_  that can handle shit?” Alfie exclaims and tightens his grip on Tommy’s hips, in a futile effort to keep him on his lap. It’s a lost cause, of course. 

“Sure, but Tommy has ‘a bit of a control-issue’ -his words not mine,” Ada shouts, as if the door is several feet thick. “I’d say it’s more of a ‘I need to run the entire fucking world on my own’-issue.” 

“The world can wait, he’s got other obligations,” Alfie is shouting too, because he feels like it. Tommy has already wriggled out of his arms and is by the door. 

He disappears with just a quick ‘don’t wait up’ before Alfie can even attempt some sort of bargaining. Ada peaks her head in through the doorway.

“Did I interrupt something?” Her eyebrows move in a suggestive wiggle.

Alfie falls backwards down onto the bed and stares at the ceiling. It’s an ugly fucking ceiling. 

“There will be a murder in this house, any fucking day now.”

“Exciting.” Ada is smirking, he can hear it in her voice. “Let me know when it’s about to happen, I’d like to see who is offed. Me and Jessie’s got a bet going.” 

Alfie only grunts in response. 

“My money is on Arthur. But do it outside, or you’ll have to do the cleaning.” 

Out of the siblings, Tommy and Ada definitely have the most in common when it comes to witty responses. 

Alfie doesn’t appreciate it right now.

... 

Right. New night, new endeavours. 

This is turning into just a fucking farce, innit? But fourth time is the charm- has no-one ever said, but Alfie decides that from now on, that is the fucking saying, alright?

The door is locked, all the grown occupants of the house are still at the Garrison and Finn is asleep. In his own room. And Alfie’s got Tommy on his knees. Nothing can go wrong now, right? Alfie tells himself this as he leans against the bedroom door, looking down at Tommy with a pleased grin. 

 Tommy is never apologetic, but the way he wraps his lips around Alfie’s cock and takes him far down his throat seems to be at the very least a reward for his patience. Alfie’s hand is heavy on the back of his head and he allows himself to put just a bit of extra weight on it, encouraging Tommy to take it deeper. Tommy looks up at him from the floor. He’s good at this, his boy. 

There is a loud crash downstairs and Alfie immediately sees how Tommy’s attention wavers. 

“No, it’s nothing-“ Alfie grunts and tugs at his hair. “Just- fuck, just keep doing that-“ 

Tommy hollows his cheeks and swallows around his cock, eyes once again firmly on him and Alfie leans back against the door and closes his eyes for just a moment. Fuck, not only can that mouth seal even the most impossible of deals, Tommy sucks cock better than anyone Alfie has ever shared a bed with. 

Tommy sucks cock the same way he does business –boldly and with little regard for his own health. 

The thought makes him chuckle breathlessly. 

Another noise from downstairs, followed by a voice. 

“Tommy!” Of course it’s Arthur. That man is the bane of Alfie’s fucking existence. Now, he’s forced to let go of Tommy’s hair as he sits back and wipes his mouth.

“I swear to-“ Alfie groans. 

“Tommy-boy, could use a hand here!” Arthur’s words are noticeably slurred. 

“I’ve got to check on him,” Tommy states, voice hoarse, and tries getting to his feet, but Alfie’s hand on his shoulder keeps him down.  
  
“Sure it’s nothing, go on, at least finish what you’ve started here.” 

This only grants him a raised eyebrow as Tommy firmly grabs his wrist and stands up. 

“The sooner you let me leave, the sooner I’ll be back.” He gives Alfie a light shove to make him get out of the way. “Patience is a virtue, you know.” That comment gets him pinned against the door. 

“I’m not a patient man.” Alfie puts one hand on the door handle and takes Tommy’s jaw in the other, holding just tight enough.

“Well, this is a perfect time for you to practice then,” Tommy smirks. Because he knows where that will get him, the moment he comes back into the bedroom.

Alfie grits his teeth, breathes through his nose. “Fine. Better be quick, or I’m coming down to fucking drag you back up by the hair.”

“I’ll make sure to take my time-“ Tommy has the audacity to look pleased. 

“Tommy!” Arthur’s voice comes from the bottom floor again and Alfie throws one hand up in defeat, using the other to pull his trousers back up.   

Tommy runs off to deal with his no doubt drunk older brother, and Alfie slumps down on the bed, stretching out on the lumpy mattress. This awful fucking bed… And that ugly fucking ceiling again. 

Several way too long minutes pass. 

Alfie decides to make good on that promise and goes to drag Tommy back if not by his hair, then at least his arm.                                                                                              

But once he comes down into the kitchen, he quickly realises that this is a lost cause. Arthur is slumped on the kitchen sofa with Tommy next to him. The man looks absolutely crestfallen. 

“Did Esme bring out the absinthe again?” Alfie leans against the doorframe and takes in the scene. “Though judging by that look, I’d bet on gin. Fucking terrible liquor that. Does all kinds of things to the head.” 

Arthur’s eyes are all red and swollen when he looks at Alfie. He expects the man to tell him to fuck off, but Arthur just sniffs. 

It’s strange alright. 

“We’ll be up,” Tommy states simply and there’s something so natural about the whole thing. Clearly not the first time this has happened.   

“Sorry for ruining your- your night,” Arthur slurs. “Bet you’d looked forward to s’me alone time.” And he actually looks genuinely upset about it. 

This is an unexpected side effect. 

“Just needed some help to get up the stairs ‘s all-“ the man continues. “But then I got sad- don’t remember why, and now everything’s sad.” 

Very eloquently put. 

“See I didn’t mean to, cos it’s important, in a relationship-“ the last word is just barely coherent. Far too few vowels. “To have time and… things of the sort. For romance-“ Arthur starts to gesture. “See, it’s ‘bout being generous… with your time and so on-“ 

Where the fuck is this thing heading? 

“And you really are, really-“ Arthur nods to himself, clearly feeling that he’s expressing great wisdom. “You’re good to each other. Know I don’t give you enough credit for tha’” Now he looks at Tommy, eyes brimming with tears as he smiles soppily. “Just, yeah, it’s all strange. Makes me so happy, that you still have that in ya’, Tommy. Even after the war-” 

That does it, Arthur covers his eyes with a hand and his shoulders start to quake. This, Alfie understands; Arthur isn’t the first man who’s gotten drunk and cried about the war. Healthy thing to do every once in a while. Though he really wishes he could’ve chosen another night. Or just… chosen to do it in about an hour or so. 

“You can go to bed,” Tommy tells him. “Maybe I’ll come upstairs in a bit. We’ll see.” 

“Yeah, sure,” Alfie sighs. “Stay up for as long as you need to, alright?” He means that, because no matter how rocky his relationship with Tommy’s older brother still is, no-one deserves to be left alone with this sort of shit. 

He leaves the two brothers in the kitchen. 

If Tommy comes upstairs during the night, he doesn’t notice it, and when he wakes up, it’s to an empty bed. 

This family will drive him insane.

 

Arthur looks like death warmed over, which Alfie tells him when they run into each other in the kitchen. Tommy is nowhere to be found, and he’s told by Ada he’s at the stables again, caring for that fucking horse that’s being a bother. Horses, family members… it’s like the whole bloody world is conspiring against him…

“Fuck off,” Arthur mutters in response to his statement, but adds after a pointed look from Ada. “Sorry ‘bout last night. Didn’t mean to…” 

“Don’t get into any fucking apologies,” Alfie screws his face up. “Might start fucking sympathising with you, mate. Hate for that to happen.” 

Arthur grunts something and goes back to his tea. 

If Tommy could see them now...

 ...

Alfie is in a foul mood –he’s stuck at the distillery all day, because _fuck_ , no-one in this _fucking_  town knows how to do their job right. He’ll have to bring some men up from London, because this is just unacceptable. And he tears into anyone he gets the chance to, until everyone around him is in a state of absolute terror. 

Today is a particularly fucking awful and shitty day. And he’s surrounded by idiots and half-wits. 

“Bloody hell, Curly will never be the same again after that. Got to remember not everyone can deal with your bullshit the way Tommy does,” John states as they walk homewards through a clouded sunset. He adds with a sympathetic pat on Alfie’s back, “You need to get laid, mate.”   

Alfie glares. “I’m trying really fucking hard to accomplish that, alright? It’s you lot that are getting in the way.” 

“Life in the Shelby-household,” John shrugs and flashes a grin. “Constant chaos. Got to be quick about it, that’s the trick.” 

“If that’s your approach to fucking, I feel bad for Esme,” Alfie laughs dryly. “Poor woman. See, I make sure to take good and proper care of Tommy in bed. That sort of thing takes time.” 

John shoves him. Alfie shoves back. All in good nature, because John’s a nice bloke. Not as uptight as Arthur- Alfie appreciates that. Got a sense of humour, too. 

“Firstly, Esme gets hers, always. I’ll tell you that,” John states confidently. “And secondly, you might have to ease up on that principle, or you’ll end up with permanently blue balls. Probably shoot one of the men too.” 

That may, unfortunately, be true.  

As usual, the house is in a state of mild chaos when they come home. 

Ada is chasing after a small figure absolutely drenched in mud, that Alfie deducts must be Finn. The boy has clearly been on some sort of adventure in a ditch, and is now resisting a bath. 

In the kitchen, Esme is cooking something that has filled the entire room with steam, and Arthur has evidently been roped into helping because he’s cursing over a pile of carrots.

Alfie stops in the midst of the whole scene and looks around. 

Apparently, this is his life now. 

He finds that he doesn’t mind that much. Never really had a family like this, himself. 

So no, he doesn’t mind. If it weren’t for the ‘you may not get laid for the duration of your stay in this godforsaken house’ factor of it all. They’re going back to London in three days. That’s… Fuck. He’s going to shoot someone. 

“What’s with the face?” John smirks as he walks past him to wrap Esme in an embrace from behind. They engage in some fond banter. 

“Where’s Tommy?” Alfie wants to know. “Is he lost somewhere in this fucking fog?” he indicates toward the steaming pot.

“He’s not home yet,” Esme tells him. “You may need to go pry him away from that horse.” 

Alfie thinks that he may just go and do that, but right then, the front door opens with the usual screech. Speak of the devil. 

He finds Tommy in the hallway, and the crease that has been etched between his eyebrows all day smooths out a bit. 

“There’s my boy,” he walks up to him and cradles the back of his head, kissing his forehead. “Thought I’d have to come get you myself.” 

Tommy’s usually so rigid posture is a bit slumped, and his eyes are lined with dark circles. Been some time since Alfie saw him that tired. 

His breath smells of whiskey. 

Tommy grunts noncommittedly in response and shrugs his hand off, going to hang up his coat. Apparently Alfie’s not the only one in a mood today. 

“Seems like you could use some time in a bed,” he suggests and gives his arse a squeeze, something which surprisingly is met by a firm slap on the wrist. 

“Sod off,” Tommy scowls. “Is that all you fucking think about?” 

“Pretty sure it’s not just me,” Alfie scoffs. “I’d say you wouldn’t mind a good fuck either. Dead giveaway, that frown of yours. I always know when you need some cock.” 

On a normal day, Tommy doesn’t mind his crudeness. 

Today, he does. 

He just turns on his heel and walks out the door again, slamming it shut behind him, without even bothering with his coat. Alfie is left standing in the hallway for just a moment, eyebrows raised. Muttering some pretty foul words under his breath, he grabs his own coat and follows. 

He should probably let Tommy cool off for a bit, but he’s not feeling too patient at the moment. 

“Oi, what’s with the fucking mood?” he calls after Tommy, who’s already halfway down Watery Lane. The people on the street promptly scurry off as he stalks past them, clearly unwilling to get caught up in their little dispute. Tommy ignores him, but luckily his usual stride is slowed to a more reasonable pace, so Alfie catches up to him in a bit. He resists the urge to grab him by the arm and force a response out of him; that’s not the way to deal with Tommy when he’s like this. Even when Alfie‘s in a just as shitty mood, he knows that limit. 

Never try to hold him down when there is anger involved. 

They walk in icy silence. Tommy’s jaw is clenched tightly and he’s smoking aggressively. Yeah, he’s definitely the only person Alfie knows who can do that. Normally, Alfie would be trying to lighten the mood with some comment about the observation, but he’s not feeling like it right now. 

Predictably, the Garrison is where they’re headed. 

There is a noticeable shift in the air as they enter the crowded pub –when Alfie Solomons and Tommy Shelby both are in a mood like this, bad things tend to happen. Tommy shuts himself in the snug, and Alfie takes it upon himself to get a bottle of whiskey from Grace. 

“Having a bit of a domestic, are we?” she asks coly as she hands him two glasses. “Should I tell people to run and hide?” 

Alfie only dignifies this with a grunt. Bold, that woman. Or just stupid. Maybe a bit of both. 

Tommy is on his second cigarette when he joins him in the private booth, sitting down next to him. 

Alfie pours them both a whiskey, and pushes the glass in Tommy’s direction. 

There is a long stretch of silence. 

Until Alfie finally lets out a defeated sigh 

“Go on, love, tell us what’s wrong. Besides me putting my foot in my mouth. Usually doesn’t bother you.” 

He has yet to beat Tommy at this game of silence, and would probably have to be dead and buried to outlast him. Tommy rubs a hand over his eyes and as always, lets the question hang in the air for a while. 

“I was up all night with Arthur,” he says. “And then I went to the stables. One of the horses has colic. You’ve got to… keep them moving when they do. So I’ve been walking it around all fucking day.” 

Alfie hums. 

It’s good that Tommy spends time with the horses –it’s the one type of leg-work Alfie can approve of. Because he can see how much it calms him. How his eyes sort of light up whenever he gets to take care of them. And he knows it’s something Tommy actually _wants_ to do, as opposed to some of the other things concerning the business. Tommy probably doesn’t realise it himself; that he’s spending more time at the stables. And Alfie is not about to point it out either, because then he’d most likely stop just on principle –indulging himself is not in Tommy’s nature. 

 But of course, Tommy always has to overdo everything, can never leave a single little detail for anyone else to take care of. Like walking a stupid fucking horse with colic.   

“We may have to put it down,” Tommy mutters and drains half of his glass in one gulp. “Shame, that. It’s a good horse.” 

Alfie only nods. That’s Thomas Shelby alright; he will shoot a man at point blank without batting an eye, but putting down a horse gets him in a state. When he puts an arm on the back of the seat behind him, Tommy leans against him. A peace offering. Alfie accepts it and rests a hand on his head. 

“Sorry for snapping at you. I’m just tired,” Tommy admits after a while and reaches for the whiskey bottle.   

“Figures. Haven’t eaten all day either, I suppose?” Alfie pushes it beyond reach. “One is enough. Will go straight to your head, that.” 

Tommy just straightens up, grabs the bottle and takes a swig straight from it. Like a fucking defiant child, he is. But Alfie’s had enough arguing for an evening, fuck it, he’ll carry him home if it comes to that. Tommy slumps against him, still with the bottle in his hand. 

“How was your day?” 

Alfie loves the little domestic questions. 

“Well I didn’t murder anyone, so I would count that as a fucking success. On account of everyone being fucking idiots and all,” he grumbles. “See, I recon it’s something in the air here, right, that just turns people’s brain into mush. Only explanation I can come up with-“ He goes on, telling Tommy in great detail just how stupid all his employees have been on this particular day. Yeah, must just be something in the air alright. Can’t have anything to do with all the interferences in their bedroom lately. 

After a while, Tommy’s little hums of recognition die out, and Alfie looks down to discover he’s fallen asleep against his shoulder. The whiskey bottle tilts dangerously in his slack grip, and Alfie carefully dislodges it. Tommy’s gone through quite a bit of it. God, can’t leave him unattended for a second… 

“Hey, Tommy, think we better head home now, wouldn’t you say?” 

Tommy jerks awake and straightens up, looking dazed. 

“I wasn’t asleep,” he states, words slightly slurred. That’s what you get for filling an empty stomach with whiskey. 

“Sure you weren’t, darling.” Alfie stands. “Just your way of listening intently to all my words of wisdom, eh? With your eyes closed and snoring. You’re usually very good at putting up with my talking.” 

“You’re the one who snores,” Tommy mutters under his breath as Alfie pulls him upright.  

Outside, the evening has turned from dusk to a starless darkness, and the air is thick with cold fog. It hangs like a soggy blanket over the city and clings to the skin, creeping in under it and chilling the bones.

Tommy visibly shivers in his thin jacket as they walk down the empty street. Alfie tugs off his coat. 

“Absolutely not,” Tommy says. “I look fucking ridiculous wearing that thing.” 

“Oh, go on, indulge me,” Alfie insists. “I’ve had such a hard day.” 

“You’re going to be cold.” 

“Never as cold as you, darling.” Alfie is nothing if not stubborn. “And I’ll have to suffer those freezing hands of yours in bed later.” 

Tommy rolls his eyes but accepts the coat –Alfie thinks that maybe the whiskey has something to do with it. 

“Happy now?” Tommy huffs once he’s pulled it on. 

Yeah, Alfie is quite happy. It makes his chest feel all warm and light, because in the end, he’s just an old fool. Tommy attempts to scowl, but it’s very hard to be intimidating wearing a coat you more or less drown in, so he mostly ends up looking like a petulant child. Alfie says nothing about this, because he’d rather make it home without getting shot. But he’s so very close to saying that other thing then. That _thing_ , that’s just been on his mind a lot lately. 

They walk in silence for a bit. Tommy lights up a cigarette and has to bunch the sleeves up around his hands. 

And he’s so, so close to saying it. 

“I’ll just come straight out and say it: is there any chance I’m getting laid when we get home?” Alfie asks bluntly, trying to wash away those other words from the tip of his tongue with something cruder, less dangerous. 

“Sure,” Tommy offers him the evenings first smile. “But with our luck, the house will probably be on fire.” 

“You’re right about that,” Alfie lets out a long-suffering sigh. 

“But if it’s not, you might just get lucky. Fourth time’s the charm, right?” 

“Fifth.” 

The house isn’t on fire, so after coaxing Tommy into a very belated dinner, Alfie is pretty sure his luck has finally turned. 

“Go upstairs, I’ll just take care of this.” Alfie indicates toward the dishes. “Wouldn’t want Esme to bang on our door tomorrow morning.” 

“That’s what you get for insisting on this constant eating,” Tommy states as he leaves the kitchen. 

Yeah, this constant eating. Three times a day, would you believe it? 

Alfie swears, Tommy runs on solely whiskey and cigarette smoke. And spite, perhaps. 

It only takes two minutes to do the dishes. Two bloody minutes. But once he gets upstairs, Tommy is out cold on the bed, still wearing Alfie’s coat and all his clothes. Only things he’s managed to take off are his shoes. It’s the whiskey. Well that, and not having slept for well over… however many hours. He’s curled up that way he does when he falls asleep alone, knees pulled up a bit and hands clutched loosely to his chest. The damp air has given his hair that slight curl to it, and it forms little ringlets against his temples. 

It’s the most precious fucking thing in the entire world. 

And Alfie thinks that _if he says it now, quietly, it will be over and done with, and Tommy won’t even have heard him._

He doesn’t say it. 

Instead he goes to sit on the bed and starts to free Tommy’s limbs from the coat, because he will be annoyed if all his clothes are wrinkled tomorrow. 

“I’m awake,” Tommy pipes up, but doesn’t open his eyes. 

“I can see that.” Alfie unbuttons all the tiny, obnoxious buttons on Tommy’s shirt, before moving on to his trousers. “You seem very alert. Go on, up you go. Don’t want to rip your fancy shirt, posh boy.” With Alfie’s hand on his back to support him, Tommy sits up and yawns –and yeah, Alfie is beyond any chance of rescue now, isn’t he? Utterly and completely fucked in the head, he is. 

 _Go on, just fucking say it._ He’s always talking, so why is that so bloody hard? But it is. So he stays quiet as he helps Tommy undress. Tommy is too tired to talk.    

Once he’s tucked him in under the blankets Alfie hangs the clothes over the back of a chair and starts undressing himself. No rush though, because there will definitely not be any other activities than sleeping this night. Tommy is barely conscious.

Three days till they go back to London. 

He can do three days. 

But maybe Ada will make some money out of that bet with Jessie.

“You’re so handsome,” Tommy suddenly slurs and smiles up at him, not quite awake. Just that short statement. Then he closes his eyes again. 

He’s asleep before Alfie has even unbuttoned his trousers.

 ...

Tommy sits at the table with the paper when he comes down to the kitchen the next morning, looking better than he has any right to. Alfie feels like there is this coiled spring in his back that is wound just a bit too tight, and yesterday’s bad mood is still lingering somewhere in his head. But he kisses his forehead anyway, and goes about scraping the last of the porridge out of the pot on the stove, into a bowl. 

“Did you cook?” he gives the pot a pointed look. He knows it's Esme, of course. Or possibly Arthur. 

“Is the house on fire?” Tommy turns his attention back to the paper. “Do you hear any distant screams of terror?” 

“So, no then,” Alfie chuckles. “What a relief. A sign of the apocalypse if I ever saw one, if you voluntarily did anything in the kitchen.” 

“Did you sleep well?” Tommy asks instead of dignifying that with an answer, blowing out a stream of smoke through pursed lips as he takes the cigarette between his fingers. 

“Not really. Had these fucking… strange dreams,” Alfie presses the heel of his hand into his eye socket, but doesn’t want to get into it right now. So he just slumps down heavily onto a chair and tries to wring some tension away from his back by stretching his arms. 

He eats quite listlessly for a while, thinking about nothing in particular except… he puts the spoon down.  

Something has bothered him since the minute he woke up, and now he realises what it is.   

“It’s… very quiet, innit?” he furrows his brow.

“I suppose,” Tommy’s got this tiny hint of a smile on his face. 

“This house is usually like a bloody circus at this hour.” Alfie cranes his neck toward the hallway, expecting to see Finn come rushing through the house with a stick he’s found and now wants to show Tommy. Or hear Arthur search very loudly for his left shoe… something of the sorts. The things that normally happen. 

“Well, the circus is not in town right now,” Tommy doesn’t look up from the paper. 

Alfie sits up a little straighter. 

“It’s been a while since anyone had a day off. And Esme’s been on John about getting out of the city for long enough now,” Tommy puts the cigarette out on an empty plate. “So they’re on a little trip. Just for the day.”   

Alfie grabs the paper and folds it down to look Tommy in the eye. “They, as in, all of them?” 

“All of them.” Tommy’s eyebrow twitches. 

“Am I getting this right-“ Alfie stands up and walks over to Tommy. “We’ve been sitting here, in an empty fucking house, yeah? For well over twenty minutes-“ he grasps his hair. “And you’re just now telling me?” 

“How could I know you’d be so interested in my family’s whereabouts,” Tommy smirks up at him. Alfie just shakes his head. 

“I don’t know why you even bothered getting out of bed.” 

He drags Tommy upstairs, because fucking in a kitchen is overrated when there are other surfaces available. Or maybe they’ll do that later; they’ve got all day, right? 

Then again, there was that incident with the splinter... 

No, when it comes to fucking, beds do make for the best surface. 

He has Tommy on his hands and knees first, because those slender hips are very good leverage when you need to absolutely pound into someone. 

It’s rough, bordering on violent, and there will be bruises tomorrow. But sometimes, that’s just what’s in order. And Tommy only begs him to go harder, begs him for more… 

Who is Alfie to deny him such things? 

 

Afterwards, Alfie feels as if every last bit of tension has been drained out of his body, and his head is filled with this pleasant hum of nothing. 

Next to him, Tommy is sprawled on his back, trying to regain some semblance of control over his breathing. His neck is littered with marks that Alfie couldn’t resist leaving there, and red in places where his beard has scratched it. 

Tommy lights a cigarette once he’s pulled himself together enough. 

“Tell me about that dream you had.” 

“Hmm?” Alfie is still not quite there in the head yet. 

“The dream,” Tommy repeats and looks attentively at him. “You said you had strange dreams.” 

Alfie smiles. 

Tommy may tease him about his constant talking. But he always listens. Always. Maybe he’s the only person in the world that does, completely voluntarily and not out of fear of being shot. It’s a fucking ridiculous and soppy thought, but Alfie basks in the warm feeling it creates. Tommy is attentive, and will listen to him go on about something with undivided attention for the longest time. The reactions to the lengthy speeches will be varying: he does anything from scoff or cut him off, to just come with some comment, depending on the subject. Or laugh, if he’s really lucky. 

But he always listens. 

And even in those moments when he gets all distant and seems to be far off somewhere in his own mind, or simply preoccupied with something else, he will surprise Alfie by bringing up some passing comment he’s made, later. 

Like now. 

“Well, you see…” Alfie begins as Tommy settles his head on his bicep. “I was walking through this marshland, which is fucking strange alright, to begin with, because it’s not like I hang around in a lot of those, yeah? Maybe my subconscious is trying to tell me that I should. And I heard this noise. Remember fuck all what it actually sounded like. But I heard it.” He glances down at Tommy, who is watching him with that spark in his eyes. “I sat down, right, and that’s when I found this blanket-”

“In the marsh?” A little smile has crept onto Tommy’s lips. 

“In the marsh. I think to myself- or, I don’t, do I, because it’s a dream, innit, and logic is out the window- but I think now: who put it there? And why? Things we have to consider. There were also horses in the marsh. They may or may not have been on fire.” Tommy makes no indication of getting tired of this incredibly stupid story, so he explains the rest of the dream in great detail, eventually finishing off with, “And then, I realise. I have this epiphany, that the blanket… is actually me. What a fucking twist.”

Tommy starts laughing. And it’s not one of those quiet, soft laughs either, that he gifts Alfie with every so often. It’s a bubbling, uncontrollable sort of affair that comes straight from the pit of the stomach. He loves that sound, and it’s so, so rare. Tommy’s head falls back and his eyes squeeze shut as he gasps for breath.

“It’s not that fucking funny-“ Alfie laughs too, mostly because Tommy’s laughter, when it’s like this, is the most contagious sound in the world. 

“I know-“ Tommy gasps, but can’t manage any more words for now, try as he might.

It takes quite a while before he can form a full sentence, and by then, he has to wipe a tear away. “Maybe you’ve actually, successfully fucked my brains out. Or maybe, I’m just realising how fucking crazy you are.” 

Alfie nearly slips up and tells him then. 

The words are on the tip of his tongue, but he feels that if he says them out loud, it will somehow be a signal for things to just go straight to hell. 

“Doesn’t that say something about you, love?” he says instead. “That you’re with someone as deranged as myself?” 

“It does,” Tommy snorts out another laugh. “Maybe the dream is trying to tell you that you’re a wet blanket.” 

“Thomas Shelby-” Alfie tries to look sternly at him, failing miserably. “You take that back right now, or there will be dire fucking consequences.”

“That is just the thing a wet blanket would say.” Tommy looks pleased when Alfie laughs. 

The moment is almost surreal with all its blissful, glowing fucking happiness. Like it doesn’t belong in his life. 

Should be illegal, to feel this way, Alfie muses. Part of him is terrified, because a life like theirs can only end in one way. The other part is angry at the first for being a fucking coward. 

Self-sabotage and deprecation is Tommy’s thing, not his, innit? But somehow, this feeling makes him understand it, the tendency of running as soon as something is too good. Better to make the decision yourself than letting someone else take away what you care about. When they figure out that you have a weakness. 

It crosses his mind then, how things are back in London. The rising tensions with the Italians, and Changretta’s unnerving fucking presence that he can’t decipher the purpose of… _The way he looked at Tommy in the pub that night…_ _Tommy bleeding out on his kitchen floor…_  

Tommy is the one thing in the world he can’t protect. 

Tommy would be fucking livid if he knew Alfie thought he needed to be.

But he doesn’t know, does he? What people like Luca Changretta are capable of. They don’t have the sort here in Birmingham, no matter what Tommy believes. 

“Where did that frown come from?” Tommy still looks utterly blissful, and Alfie draws himself out of the unpleasant thoughts. This, this right here, is all that matters. 

And he should say it, should tell him… 

“Oh, just thinking about how I’ll have you next…” Alfie grins and scratches his beard “I’m considering… on your back, with your legs over my shoulders.” 

If he doesn’t say it, it won’t lead to any disasters. No one will take Tommy away. They’ll have to rip him from Alfie’s cold, dead hands, won’t they? 

Alfie Solomons is a fucking coward. And a fool. 

Tommy props his arms on his chest and looks down at him.  
  
“You sure that’s all you’re thinking about?” 

“Sure, love, I put a lot of time and effort into these things, you know that.”

It looks like Tommy is about to say something else, so Alfie wraps both arms firmly around his waist and kisses him. To make him forget. Or to make himself forget. Maybe both.

This is all that matters. That Tommy is here, that he’s Alfie’s, and that no one will take him away. 

And that Alfie loves him. Even if he barely dares to admit it, even to himself.   


End file.
